


Expecto Patronum

by cxr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4727441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxr/pseuds/cxr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape is a Dark wizard. Dark wizards can't cast Patronuses. And yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expecto Patronum

Most people do not call themselves Dark Wizards. But Severus Snape prided himself on being half a Prince, and Princes were not most people. 

From the day Snape first performed magic, Mother had made sure to pass on this aspect of his Prince heritage. That day, she had misjudged a step and reached a hand towards the table to stabilize herself. The jolt to the table caused the glass on it to tilt forward and fall towards the ground.

Snape tried to grab it, missed, but the glass floated upward, as if boosted by an invisible hand, before descending slowly to the ground. Mother's eyes widened, before the crease between her brows faded. Mother was rarely happy, but this time, she smiled so widely that Snape could see her teeth.

"You...you performed magic!" she reached out to grip Snape's shoulders.

She brought him to a dusty corner of the house, touched her wand to the space above the floor, and a wooden chest appeared before Snape's eyes. Most of the lacquered sheen that had covered it was gone, the surface dull and faded after years of use, but the books within showed no signs of damage.

'Magicks Most Potente,' 'Flesh, Blood and Bone', 'History of Dark Arts', said the book spines. Snape felt the faint tingle of magic from the protective spells that covered the books like a jacket. While the edge of the books were yellow with age and curled with use, the ink was as jet-black as if it had been printed yesterday.

"I took these from my family when I left," she explained. "Now that you can do magic, I need not fear that these will go to waste."

Snape read those books from cover to cover, wanting to absorb as much knowledge as he could. He read about defensive spells strengthened with the blood of a fallen enemy, blood sacrifices from a mother to safeguard an unborn child, and came to reject the assumption that Dark magic was evil. Over the years, he came to believe that many of these so-called Dark spells were but ingenious consequences of the laws of magic, and that most people recoiled from the Dark not out of moral rectitude, but out of fear for those who had the ambition to venture where most dared not.

They did not talk about magic when Father was around. Mother said that there was a time when Father was not violent, but it was not a time that Snape remembered. The father in his memories always had breath that reeked of beer, and an unyielding palm that he flung out at them as he called Snape a money-sucking brat or called Mother a filthy witch.

Whenever Father was out, however, Mother began teaching Snape magic in earnest. She would place her wand in his hand and guide him through the swish and flick of basic wand movements. She started squirrelling away money which she woud later convert at Gringotts to buy ingredients for potions. Even many years later, the sharp tang of honeysuckle and cobwebs would remind Snape of the first potion she taught him to brew.

His parents fought when his Hogwarts letter arrived.

"No son of mine is going to waste his time on such nonsense when he could make good money working outside!" Father roared, swatting at the owl as it attempted to deposit its letter on the table.

"My son is going to be a wizard." Mother said softly, but firmly.

Even after Father shoved her so her hip ran into the side of the table, fracturing it, she still repeated the same thing. 

"My son is going to be a wizard."

From then on, Snape refused to call his father by any title. He did not deserve one, the cheap drunkard who left Mother clutching her side in pain, who told the nurses at the hospital, "I don't have the money, what'cha gonna do about it, eh?"

Regardless, Mother was unshakeable in the pursuit of her goal: answering the owl when that man was away, sneaking Snape out of the house to get his robes and wand. The relief on her face when she watched Snape board the Hogwarts Express was unmistakeable. Snape remembered waving excitedly back at her, happier than he'd been in a long while. He was going to learn all the magic that Mother had mentioned, he would be free of Father, and Lily was with him, tugging his sleeve as she pointed towards the next cabin.

*

From the moment Snape saw Lily launch herself into the air from the playground swing, he should have known that she would be in Gryffindor. However, a part of him had hoped otherwise up to the moment that she seated herself below the large lion tapestry at the Gryffindor table.

As Snape placed the Sorting Hat on his head, part of him wished he would be put in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin. Slytherin and Gryffindor had been rivals since the time of the founders, but there was no such bad blood between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

"Severus Snape...ah, a half-blood Prince, I didn't even know any of these existed." said the hat directly into Snape's ear. "Those have been Slytherins for the most part, you know, except for the one or two who tend to get disowned after that..." 

Mother had been a Slytherin too, not that it had spared her from the same fate. But that was all Snape knew of his family. He had wanted to have the Sorting over as soon as possible, but now he wished the Hat would tell him more.

"But back to you, Mister Snape," said the hat, reading his thoughts. "Keen mind, determination, Ravenclaw might not be all that bad for you, for that matter..."

Snape thought about it for a long moment. He was tempted by the freedom to be friends with Lily without worrying about the disapproval of his housemates. But where the Ravenclaws were obsessed with trivia and senseless riddles, Snape wanted to do something with his knowledge, to change his life for the better. He looked at the Slytherin table, met the cold proud gaze of Lucius Malfoy, and was reminded of where the prize lay. The Slytherins not like him talking to a Gryffindor, but he would prove his worth, make it worth their while not to interfere.

"Well, if you're sure, then so be it, Mister Snape," the hat said. "SLYTHERIN!"

*

For his first few years in Hogwarts, Snape could believe that he had been successful in this compromise. For consorting with a Gryffindor, his housemates were happy to leave him to the tender mercies of the Marauders. However, Snape did not care much for their company, only their recognition of his abilities. Lily and Snape continued to meet, the only thing he looked forward to other than classes and the library.

It was the last day of winter break in his third year when the charmed piece of paper in his pocket heated. Snape unrolled the parchment with practiced ease, and read the message written in Lily's familiar cursive.

"I have something to show you! Usual place, usual time?"

"Yes," Snape wrote, and watched the spiky letters vanish into the paper.

The usual place was a quiet spot near the lake. During the term, there would be the chatter of other students, decked out in the colours of the four houses. At that time, though, there were only the first flowers of spring dotting the moor.

Amidst that, the red-haired girl crossing the field stood out like a fire. Lily smiled when she spotted Snape, a smile that sparked something warm on his skin, the way spring sunshine melts winter frost.

"Sev, I've done it!" Lily grabbed Snape's wrist and pulled him behind a bush. His pulse leapt beneath her fingers, though logic reminded him that her touch was nothing more than friendly.

She had been working on the Expecto Patronum spell, driven by what Snape considered to be an irrational fear of Dementors. As if there would be any circumstance that would land someone so pure and kind in Azkaban, the only place where these inhuman gray guards were a known threat.

He kept telling her that as, day after day, she continued to peruse stacks on defensive magic, tucking her hair behind her ear as she chewed her lip in thought. Then again, Snape would hardly have considered her worthy if she were so easily turned from her research interest.

Snape ended up knowing a great amount about the Patronus charm as well. He knew that she was summoning her happy memory as she raised her wand and shut her eyes in concentration.

"Expecto Patronum!" 

A dazzling silver doe sprang from the wand. Cast from the heart and shaped by the mind of its caster, the doe shone so brightly it almost hurt to look at it.

The doe regarded Snape with solemn eyes, deciding if he were friend or foe. Snape was uncomfortably reminded of the fact that Patronuses are meant to charge down Dark creatures. His wand hand twitched forward.

Suppress his fear, Snape told himself, summoning his Occlumency training. The Patronus was Lily's, and Snape did not want to be its enemy. It would have sensed the lie had Snape claimed to be anything rather than Dark, so Snape told the truth.

"I mean you no harm," Snape told the doe mentally. "I would defend Lily alongside you."

The doe bowed its head, touching its nose lightly to his hand. The touch was like a shaft of pure light, incandescent with the brightness of her spirit. Snape savored the sensation, soft as a peck on the cheek, before the doe vanished. 

"It's beautiful," Snape admitted, after weeks of calling her endeavor a waste of time.

"You should try it too, Sev!"

Snape shook his head. He accepted the taint, long ago, when he cast his first Dark spell. Every aspiring Dark wizard knew that Dark wizards could not cast Patronuses. The commonly cited example was Raczidian, whose attempted patronus morphed into maggots. The slimy beings crawled over Raczidian and devoured his body as he screeched and clawed ineffectively at his nose and eyes.

If Snape were the type to seek an ignominous death, he would have chosen Gryffindor.

However, in the following days, the doe lingered in his thoughts: the soundless footfalls as it sprang across the ground, the charge generated by the manifestation of an emotion so pure and powerful. It caused him to question what it meant to be a Dark wizard. If Dark wizards chose their path because they sought to push the boundaries of magic, why should a dark wizard restrict himself from trying out spells?

That was how Snape found himself in an abandoned classroom, preparing to try the spell.

To avoid Razcidian's fate, Snape cast a protective shield across the room, a gray bubble that shimmered under the candlelight. Snape pressed his eyes shut and let his mind fill with Lily's dazzling smile, the shine of her patronus in the sun. Snape remembered the faint tingle of fascination and joy as the doe nosed his hand. 

"Expecto Patronum."

A wisp of smoke streamed out of the wand tip and dissipated in the air.

The emotion had to be stronger, Snape realized. He cast about for another happy memory and recalled his Hogwarts acceptance letter. His fingers twitched as he recalled the curling brown parchment and the heavy red wax seal that sang of ancient magic. He also remembered the tears of pride in his mother's eyes, the pressure on his shoulders as she squeezed her arms around them.

Snape raised his wand and opened his mouth, but his mind involuntarily supplied the rest of the memory: the unmistakeable stench of alcohol as the door was flung open, how mother and son had scrambled to hide the letter, how his father had noticed their evasive behavior and snatched the parchment from Mother. His father had then flung his beer bottle to the floor, sending glass shards flying as he ripped up the letter into tiny bits.

The wand shot a burst of stinging red sparks that caused him to drop it in shock. Snape tried to get around the problem with mental shields, but soon realized that the spell required complete immersion in the memory. 

Snape thought back to the first snowfall he watched with Lily, recalled the sudden lifting of his heart when Lily had made the snowflakes swirl around into a snowman, when she gave a smile that was just for him. Holding on to the thought tightly, fiercely, Snape cast the spell.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A dense grey mass spilt from the wand, spreading across the floor like slime. Snape thought of Racizidian, of maggots. There it was: proof as to his maimed soul. Snape Vanished the mess with a scowl.

Lily had been full of earnest when she had urged Snape to try the spell, but he knew now, with even greater certainty, that the spell was beyond his reach. Some people were meant to have brightness surround them, have their souls so full of goodness that they could produce such beauty in the face of a Dementor. But Snape had chosen knowledge, chosen power.

*

Snape stayed at Hogwarts the winter before the OWL exams. He was determined to get perfect grades for his exams in order to escape Spinner's End. Lily was home for the winter, as were the other Slytherins in his year, so Snape spent most of his time in the library. He barely saw another person until the Deputy Headmistress summoned him to her office one day to tell him that the Muggle police had identified two bodies at Spinner's End.

The stench of rotting flesh was clear even before Snape stepped under the police tape. His father's mouth was flecked with froth. A pool of dried blood surrounded his mother's abdomen, where a glass shard lay gleaming. Her wand was in her hand in a dead man's grip.

"That's a clear cause of death if I ever saw one, " the policeman commented, motioning to the pool of blood around Snape's mother. "His now... wonder what the boys back at the station would make out of it. I'd put my money on choking, but where's them rope?" 

The policeman was talking to himself more than to Snape at that point, looking around the room as if he expected a coil of rope to materialize. But Snape had a better idea than him of what transpired, and he took advantage of the policeman's distraction to Summon his mother's wand into his pocket.

Snape brought the wand back to Hogwarts, picked a private room and warded it against intruders with the best defences he knew. He then touched the tip of his wand to hers and cast Prior Incantato, the reverse-effect spell.

A smoky noose appeared in mid-air, its loop tightening around an invisible neck. It was the Choking Curse, as Snape had expected. She must have cast it as a last resort to get him off her, but she had failed to prevent or heal her own injury.

With that information, Snape had no need to let the spell continue. Instead, Snape continued holding the wands together, watching the ghosts of her previous spells blossom from her wand. Ghostly knives chopped imaginary herbs in perfect unison, a shimmering surface swirled as if stirred by an imaginary hand, a wave swept past that tidied the brewing tools on the table. She would never be able to do any of this again, all thanks to that man. Snape clenched his fists. He should have been there, should not have expected him to leave her in peace. Snape almost wished he could raise that man from the dead, just so he could have his revenge.

*

From the expression on Lily's face, Snape knew that calling her a Mudblood had been a fatal mistake. The word had just slipped out, familiar from the words of Lucius, the other Slytherins, his mother. Snape's experience with his father had only made him more certain that Muggles, on the whole, were filth. But Lily... Lily was and always would be an exception to Snape. 

Snape chased after Lily at the first opportunity, trying to make her understand that he had only spoken in anger, that he had not meant to upset her.

He grabbed at her sleeve, and she turned to face him. 

"No one understood why I wanted to continue being friends with you," she said, shaking his hand off. "They warned me about all the people you spend time with-- people who would love to see a Mudblood dead."

She practically spat the word "Mudblood". 

"I'm really sorry, Lil--"

Lily met Snape's eyes. The anger faded, and for a moment Snape thought that she might forgive him. Lily had understood him in the past, let his biting comments about her cow of her sister pass with a furrowed brow of disapproval. If she forgave him, Snape vowed to himself, he would never again mention that word in her presence.

"I've given you so many chances, Sev," Lily said, her voice full of disappointment. "I kept telling them that you were my friend, that you weren't like them, but I guess they were right."

Her red hair flashed in front of Snape as she stepped past the portrait into her common room. It was like watching the doe vanish, this time for ever.

Snape had not used the word "Mudblood" ever since.

*

Without Lily, all Snape had left were his dreams of obtaining the Dark Lord's favour and power.

He wrote to Lucius when the time came to discuss his future. "Slughorn has spoken highly of St. Mungos and some Potions Masters he knows, but his sensibilities preclude him from mentioning options in, shall we say, our areas of mutual interest." 

One did not mention the name of the Dark Lord lightly. But Lucius Malfoy was the consummate Slytherin, and reading between the lines posed him no difficulty. They arranged a meeting at Knockturn Alley, where Lucius scanned the surroundings with sharp eyes before handing Snape a rolled piece of parchment.

The variety of potions demanded by the list confirmed that the Dark Lord was no ordinary person. A Death Cap Draught to bring death slowly upon the drinker, the antidote for the Black Fires that burnt in the caves of abandoned magical mines, and several extremely ambitious approximations to the Elixir of Life.

"Do a good job," said Lucius. " And you will be rewarded with His favour." 

Snape wanted nothing less. He knew that he would not surpass the boundaries of magic by surrounding himself with fools and cowards. Snape would absorb all that he could from the feet of the Dark Lord: all the better to surpass him with.

The Dark Lord did not give his favour away lightly, however. Those were no ordinary ingredients, and the strain on Snape was more than merely physical. The fumes from the potent potions stung his skin, his eyelids grew heavy from the extended exertion, and even the hours of rest in between were punctuated by nightmares of knives slicing through his body and blood gushing out from between his ribs, as if Snape had become the ingredients he had cut through.

The ordeal lasted for two weeks, but Snape succeeded in producing the brews. The next day, Lucius' haughty gray owl delivered a piece of parchment. Snape opened the red wax seal with the Malfoy crest to find only three words, written swiftly in Lucius' flowing hand.

"He is pleased."

Snape would soon gain an audience with the Dark Lord, he thought, with a rush of excitement.

*

Lucius strode confidently in front of Snape, as if impervious to the chill that was seeping into Snape's bones. Snape half-expected him to fling a hand out theatrically and reveal the Slytherin common room, the way he had in Snape's first year.

Instead, Lucius stopped soundlessly in front of a door with a large stone snake carved on it and turned to look at Snape. Snape gave a single nod; he was not about to turn back from the power and glory that he had longed for. Lucius rolled up his sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark on his left forearm. On it, two snakes were intertwined underneath a skull, their fangs exposed. 

"Once we are inside, follow my lead," Lucius said, before pressing the Mark to the head of the snake.

There was a hiss as the tail of the stone snake moved away, unbolting the door.

"Enter," said a deep voice from within, and the door swung open.

Upon stepping in, Snape saw for himself the Dark Lord's mastery of theatricality. The snakes carved into the hardwood were more than decorative: they were runes that spoke of power, of a victor whose rise was as inevitable as the sun's. The gold finishings gleamed in the candlelight and the dark velvet carpet muffled their footfalls as they made their way forward.

"My Lord."

Without hesitation, proud, arrogant Lucius dropped to his knees and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. A part of Snape distantly marvelled that a Malfoy could be brought so low. Snape did not wish to debase himself to anyone, not even to someone so powerful, but he clamped down on the thought before it could fully form. Some sacrifices had to be made to gain the Dark Lord's favour.

This close to the Dark Lord, Snape could feel the force of his aura. He immediately understood why they said Dumbledore was the only one who might have been his equal. Yet, in some way, the two auras were polar opposites. Dumbledore's aura was as brilliantly white as a cloud on a summer's day, and only the discerning or unfortunate knew that he was also the master of mists and fog, smoke and mirrors. In contrast, the Dark Lord's aura smouldered like coals in a furnace, burning with a core of dark, dense power.

The ring of Slytherin gleamed silver on the Dark Lord's finger as he stretched a hand towards Snape's chin. The Dark Lord twitched his fingers, and Snape found his head lifted by a force as unyielding as steel.

Snape had seen pictures of the Dark Lord as Hogwarts Head Boy, his posture tall and commanding even when he was wearing secondhand robes thinned by one Lengthening charm too many. While the man before Snape retained the sharp cheekbones and nose, his eyes had changed from clear blue to blood red.

Once their eyes met, the Dark Lord's Legilimency uncoiled itself from behind the crimson glow of his eyes and struck with the force and ferocity of lava. Lesser shields would have crumbled under the onslaught, but Snape had prepared for this. He channelled the burning flow around the towers that guarded his weaknesses, and towards the forests in his mind where his fear, anger, and darkness burned.

"Malfoy tells me you wish to pledge yourself to our cause. Why?"

Through some combination of the Dark Lord's will and his, the relevant memories bubbled up in Snape's mind. The Dark Lord saw Snape's fear as the werewolf Lupin pounced towards him, Snape's indignation as Dumbledore blithely pardoned his prize students, and Snape's outrage at the broken glass, blood streaks, and dark bruises of his father's excesses.

"Knowledge," Snape said, because therein lay power.

The Dark Lord's focus shifted, as swift as a swerving snake. He searched for the dark spells Snape had cast: blood poisoning spells, Sectumsempra, Avada Kedavra. All of those were spells designed to eliminate the threat with maximum efficiency.

The Dark Lord broke his spell with a slight tilt of his head, and Snape's chin fell down to his neck. Then the Dark Lord laughed, a high, cold sound.

"In the coming days, you will learn that there is more to the Dark than what you have seen in books, young snake." The Dark Lord grabbed Snape's left arm in a vice-like grip and pressed the tip of his wand into Snape's flesh. "Morsmordre!"

The outline of the Dark Lord's brand began to sear itself into Snape's skin. The pain intensified until Snape was unable to focus on anything else, not even to breathe, and then the coil of magic binding him to Voldemort formed. That instant of connection opened up a strength and depth of magic beyond what Snape had ever experienced, a rush of liquid fire that spread from the mark on his arm to the rest of his body. 

When the ritual was complete, the removal of magic was like a sudden, aching gap. The Dark Lord's eyes bored into Snape's as he took in shaky breaths.

"Lord Voldemort is harsh with his displeasure but generous with his reward," he said. "What you have tasted is but a sample of both."

As the remnants of the spell tingled on his skin, Snape vowed to have more of this magic.

*

In his last year, Potter learnt how to cast a patronus, and wasted no time in parading the stag in front of the rest of the school. Snape imagined the doe and stag cantering towards each other, antlers brushing against ears, and the thought burned.

In response, Snape channelled the anger into the Dark Lord's strengthening potion. As the ingredients all but sang with power, Snape let the fumes seep into his pores. As Snape opened his soul to the rawness of pain and emotion, he relived, for a split second, the sensation from the night he received the Mark.

*

While Snape was a student, his only role had been to supply the Dark Lord's potions. Lucius had talked of the Death Eater revels out in the Muggle world, but Snape had never been called to them. 

That changed once Snape graduated from Hogwarts. 

Lucius' eyes gleamed with anticipation as he passed Snape a set of dark robes and a white mask that covered the face. "Now, we shall give the Muggles a taste of the new order."

Snape thought of his father and his disdain for magic, the cuts and bruises on his mother's face, the revenge that was denied to him by his father's death. But now, Snape had his chance: cloaked in the dark robe and hidden under the white folds of the mask, Snape felt like Death himself.

"It's time they had a taste of their own medicine," Snape agreed, as he took the Portkey Lucius held out and the air whirled around them.

When they next touched ground, they were in a Muggle estate. The air was thick with fog and rank things, and the river whispered past banks covered with abandoned wood and twisted metal. It brought back memories of a past Snape wished never existed.

All around them, under the cover of darkness, the other Death Eaters appeared. One by one, they cast Disillusionment charms on themselves before silently gathering around the target houses.

Snape heard quick, tense breaths, and realized that they were his. Holding his wand tight, Snape controlled his breaths till each exhalation sounded calm to his ears. The silence continued until the surge of the Dark Lord's magic ignited the air and the glittering skull that was the Dark Mark rose in the sky.

That was their signal to attack. Doors were blasted open, the Death Eaters stormed in, and the night exploded into a chorus of screams and cries.

The burst of sound was stunning. Snape stood in the living room for a long moment, not sure of what to do, until a man staggered in, roused by the commotion. Snape saw the beer bottle in the man's hand, and his anger surged.

"Crucio!" Snape spat. The man gave a scream of pain as he was thrown off his feet and smashed into the wall. One has to mean it when casting the Cruciatus curse, to really want to cause pain and enjoy it. Snape tried to keep the focus on his anger, but in his memory, it was inseparable from the shock of seeing his mother's face pale in death, the empty grief as Snape sat and watched the ghosts of her spells drift from her wand.

A screech of pain echoed in the air. Lucius was flaying off a woman's skin in strips, his eyes shining with pleasure. Snape realized that his spell had not worked as intended, and that he had been standing, as if lost, for too long. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed this lapse of his. 

Snape quickly induced uncontrollable screaming in the man while he scanned the surroundings and considered his next step. In the corner, a child cried and curled into a fetal position as a Crucio hit him. For that moment, it was as if Snape was ten and crouching in the corner as his mother wept and his father roared. Snape wished he could cast a Silencing Spell on the area so that he could think. 

In the midst of his confusion, the burn of the Dark Mark was a welcome distraction. Snape automatically cleared his mind and Apparated to the Dark Lord's side. 

A dark-haired woman writhed and screamed before him. There were holes in her blouse, under which were bloody scratches, and her mouth was smeared with blood. The Dark Lord's eyes were slitted like a snake's as he hissed in pleasure to his pet, Nagini. He lifted his wand lazily when he noticed Snape, and the screams petered off into wheezes.

"You may harvest the ingredient for my Strengthening Potion," he said.

Blood from a suffering victim, forcibly taken. Strictly speaking, the harvesting did not necessitate the death of the victim. However, the greater the suffering, the stronger the magic, and Snape knew Voldemort would not settle for anything less than her death.

She looked up at Snape with a gaze that was somehow very familiar. Snape did not consciously use Legilimency, but her thoughts flowed into his when their eyes met. Snape saw flashes of a husband and children, blue-eyed and laughing. They were visiting a relative's place, and would be spared. The hint of a smile touched her face, and Snape recognized the expression. It was the same relief his mother had shown when Snape first performed magic.

Snape hesitated. He had long known that magic always comes at a cost, but that was the first time Snape found himself unwilling to pay it.

But what other choice did Snape have? He could drain her dry as Voldemort wished, or writhe under his wand before dying a traitor's death, only for her to die shortly after. Snape was no Gryffindor: dying for a nominal victory gave him no pleasure. He raised his wand, keeping his eyes on hers all the while.

"Please, let this be over soon," she said in her mind. 

It should have been laughable. Her opinion should be the last to matter: her life was lost long before Snape stepped into the room. Snape was tempted to make her pay for her presumption by being his test subject, bringing himself one step closer to Voldemort's understanding of magic in the process.

From where he was, Snape felt the surge of Voldemort's aura caused by the thrill of having torn her apart. He thought of the manic grin on Lucius' face, pupils blown wide from the exhilaration of causing pain. Snape was no less Dark than either of them-- his Patronus proved it. His soul would be split from this murder, regardless of how Snape chose to carry out the act. 

And yet, Snape thought of the silver doe's nose against his hand as they shared the brief moment of understanding, the images that sprang from his dead mother's wand as Snape sat with his elbows on his knees in the empty room. Snape knew what it was like to want to protect someone, know what it was like to attempt to relive the suffering of the dead after being powerless to prevent it. 

In the end, Snape realized, contemplation of that suffering did not bring him pleasure. 

"Sectumsempra," Snape said, and the blood gushed from the artery, a quick and nearly painless death.

That night, Snape dreamt of the spray of blood over his hands, and woke to a cold sweat. Snape knew that this was only the beginning, that Voldemort would continue to expect this much, if not more. But what choice did Snape have?

*

It was Voldemort who provided Snape with the answer.

"Yet another Defence teacher leaves Hogwarts," he commented, as his snake tasted the air. That by itself came as no surprise: Hogwarts had had a different Defence teacher for every year that Snape had been a student.

Voldemort's manner was offhand, but a smugness lay beneath his words. It must have amused him to think of Dumbledore's defences against the Dark crumbling as each of his allies left.

"Dumbledore will no doubt be in need of a replacement."

Snape saw his chance immediately. Voldemort's desire to have an informant in Dumbledore's camp only proved the rumours that he feared Dumbledore, and anyone that Voldemort feared was one that Snape wanted to learn from. More importantly, Snape would have a chance to someday break away from Voldemort, a chance acquired under Voldemort's orders.

"I am most honoured to carry out your orders, his Lord," Snape replied, showing Voldemort a delight that was very genuine. "But why select me, if I may ask?"

"Dumbledore's weakness is that he always believes the best of people," Voldemort steepled his bone-white fingers.

"You will offer him a tale of redemption, a chance for him to bring a lost sheep back to the fold..."

*

Snape began his mission to infiltrate Dumbledore's circle by watching his known followers: Potter and Black. As the newest Aurors in the Ministry, it was only natural for them to be assigned the job of cleaning up after a Death Eater attack. All Snape had to do was to lay in wait amidst the stench of blood and bodily fluids.

Snape watched them bend over the bodies, flipping them face-up with their wand. The only task worthy of their abilities, Snape sneered mentally. They stood over a girl for a long moment. As they shifted positions, Snape caught glimpses of bruises on a face, spread as far apart as fingers. The face was vaguely familiar, as if they had met a lifetime ago. 

Potter sighed, the first sound that carried over their hushed conversation. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's Margie."

"Get Moony," Black said. The mention of Lupin jogged Snape's memory: the girl was some Mud-- Muggle raised girl that no doubt had been making eyes at Lupin.

Potter raised his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" 

Although Snape hated Potter, the silver stag drew his eye, contrasting sharply against the stench of dead bodies. Snape was confused for a moment, for there were no Dementors present. It wasn't until the stag cantered off into the night that Snape realized it was a messenger, what Dumbledore's Order used as their secure means of communication. 

Ergo, Dumbledore would not trust anyone who could not cast a patronus. He was no fool, after all, Snape realized, as he kept his bitter laugh from escaping.

*

After a while, the analytical part of Snape took over, and he reasoned that there was no fundamental reason why he could not cast a patronus. By the law of equivalent exchange, sufficient magical power would allow him to form the patronus, or at least create a serviceable imitation. 

Snape first tried runes that amplified his natural power, progressed to offering blood in exchange, and even grit his teeth and scraped off part of his bone.

Those procedures created power, no doubt about that. The gray mess Snape created grew larger, hummed with more magic, and even repelled a Dementor more effectively. What the magic lacked was focus. In the true Patronus, the memory served as a crystal, filtering and concentrating the Light from the caster's happy memory. In his case, it was as if the crystal was filled with fog and miasma, contaminating the spell.

*  
When Snape learnt that Dumbledore would be interviewing an applicant for the Divination position at the Hog's Head, Snape waited there, seeking information that would help him obtain the old man's trust.

The applicant herself was a joke. As Snape watched her accompany vague proclamations of doom with excesive jangling of her jewellery, he mused that Dumbledore must have fallen far indeed, to even consider this charlatan. 

"The one to defeat the Dark Lord rises," she declaimed, in unnatural hoarse tones, as Snape laughed to himself. As if a voice change would make her any less of a farce. But he took note anyway: the information would prove Snape's value to Voldemort, and if he were foolish enough to act on those words, so much the better. Those who seek to thwart prophecy always end up fulfilling it, after all.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him..."

"You there!" came the distant cry of the barkeeper. "What are you up to, listening at the door?"

Snape dashed down the stairs, ignoring the cries of "Stop there, you rascal!" echoing behind him.

"Skulking around for Voldemort, eh, Snivellus?" Black said, appearing from his little guard post near the door. "Stupefy!"

When aided by his fellow bullies, Black could lazily cast his spell out loud and still strike Snape. This time, his arrogance was unfounded. Snape flicked his wand, and the red bolt smashed into the nearest table. "Serpensortia Plura!" Snape thought, and screams erupted as snakes sprang out of his wand in all directions, allowing him to slip away.

*

After delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, Snape bowed low enough that his forehead scraped across the thick carpet. "I do not know what else was said, my Lord." 

Voldemort forced Snape's chin up with his wand, then pierced Snape's eyes with his Legilimency. He wrenched the memory out of its mental shelf and exploded it into a pile of smoke that he sifted through.

"Your espionage ssskills need improvement," Voldemort hissed, once he emerged from Snape's mind. Snape mentally braced himself for a Crucio, but Voldemort leaned back and steepled his fingers instead.

"No matter," Voldemort continued. "This information is enough for me to eliminate the threat, and few families have had the audacity and the foolishness to defy me thrice. The Longbottoms..."

Snape straightened a little in relief. Voldemort must have been pleased indeed, if he was forgoing punishment, and the Longbottoms made as good a target as any.

"Ah, and how could I forget...the Potters."

Lily. Snape's insides turned to ice at those words. In his excitement at matching wits with Dumbledore and Voldemort in this live game of wizard's chess, Snape had forgotten the value of the pieces he had been playing with. 

Snape had to do something, even if it risked showing his hand. "My Lord, if I may make a request..."

Voldemort waved a hand lazily in permission.

"Potter has been a thorn in my flesh since our school days. It would give me great pleasure to exact my revenge upon his wife..."

Voldemort's face was expressionless as Snape spoke. For a moment Snape feared that he had revealed too much, until Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. 

"Ah...you desire her..."

Voldemort considered himself above such base pleasures, but saw them as harmless entertainment for his underlings. Perhaps he would spare her as a reward. Snape kept the excitement from his face. His plans could hardly have worked better than saving Lily and eradicating Potter in the same move.

"Lord Voldemort always rewards his loyal followers," Voldemort said. "I will go first to the Potters, and if the woman does not interfere, I will spare her for your pleasure." 

Fear and worry gripped Snape again. The Lily he knew would interfere, would sooner die than see her child killed. Of what value was Voldemort's guarantee? There was little benefit in questioning Voldemort's decision, but Snape had to try.

"And if she interferes, my Lord?" 

"To gain power, one must be willing to sacrifice small things," Voldemort said in a surprisingly indulgent tone. "When I am ruler of the wizarding world, do you not think that you will have more than the avenging of a schoolboy grudge?"

The change in mood was subtle, but noticeable. Voldemort's mind was fixed, he would not reconsider. 

"My greatest thanks, my Lord." Snape bent his head to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes, the better to disguise the dread in his heart. 

It was time, Snape realized, for him to talk to Dumbledore.

 

*

In response to Snape's request for a meeting, Dumbledore's phoenix sent a Portkey. It transported Snape to a desolate hilltop, where the winter wind swept through the branches of barren trees. Snape turned on the spot, watching for Dumbledore, wondering if the old man had set a trap.

Snape gripped his wand so tightly that it pressed into his palm. The plan had not changed. He still had to convince Dumbledore that he genuinely wished to turn spy. He had to appear frightened, and sincerely repentant. Logically, he knew that this turn of events would help his case. But he did not want to think about Lily now, or it might make him lose control of his Occlumency.

“Well, Severus?" 

Snape pivoted and forced himself to focus. It was Dumbledore, robes swirling majestically around him in the wind. 

"What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?”

Dumbledore's magic flared and surged around him, and it was suddenly very easy for Snape to pretend to be afraid.

“No—no message—I’m here on my own account! I—I come with a warning—no, a request—please—”  
Snape wrung his hands as the wind tossed his hair over his face.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a bubble of silence surrounded the two men.

“What request could a Death Eater make of me?”

The stare Dumbledore gave Snape was colder than the wind. Snape let the chill of that stare coat his words with fear.

“The—the prophecy. . . the prediction. . . Trelawney. . . “

“Ah, yes,” said Dumbledore. “How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”

“Everything—everything I heard!” Snape said, letting Dumbledore see the truth of the statement in his eyes. “That is why—it is for that reason—he thinks it means Lily Evans!”

“The prophecy did not refer to a woman,” said Dumbledore, as mildly as if he were remarking upon the weather. “It spoke of a boy born at the end of July—”

“You know what I mean!" Snape snapped. "He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down—kill them all—”

“If she means so much to you,” said Dumbledore, “surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?”

Snape ground his teeth in anger. How did Dumbledore dare to taunt him? Except Dumbledore could, Dumbledore held all the power in his hands now. “I have—I have asked him—”

"You disgust me," Dumbledore's voice was full of disdain. It was the Dumbledore Snape despised: ready to think the best of Gryffindors, but the worst of Slytherins. He disgusted Snape, but Snape had no choice.

“You truly don’t care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?”

Snape looked up at Dumbledore, the taste of what he was about to say bitter on his tongue. 

“Hide them all, then. Keep her—them—safe. Please.”

“And what will you give me in return, Severus?”

“In—in return?” 

Dumbledore was still testing Snape; Snape still did not have his trust.

"Anything," Snape promised, meaning it.

"I trust you know of the Patronus charm?"

Snape nodded, stiffly. If Dumbledore were to see a broken Patronus, he would judge that Snape was unable to love, that Snape belonged to the one class of people he would not trust.

"Forgive an old man his idiosyncracies, Severus, but I have always been fascinated by what a Patronus has to say about its owner." 

Snape thought of the taint in his memories, the darkness in the pure crystals kept in his mind. It was just like Lily's purity and brightness: all poisoned by what Snape had thought was his cleverness. How Snape wished they had never met now, that the smoke had never been part of the crystal. 

The mental image of the smoke leaving the crystal sparked a thought.

If Snape pulled a memory out of his mind, away from his soul, it could be used as the focus. Then, having been from torn from its home, Snape would lose the memory forever. He would recall the content, for the mind is skilled at patching gaps, but the vivid colour, the emotion of the moment would be lost to him forever. 

Snape would lose the memory, but he would be able to cast the Patronus.

It was clear now why his previous attempts had failed. Flesh, blood, and bone were cheap prices to pay in comparison to this. However, it was still a price he could afford to pay. Snape raised his wand and focused on the image of Lily's glowing smile as her Patronus cantered across the air. Snape pulled the silver thread of memory to the forefront of his mind, savoring the warmth and happiness radiating from it for the last time. 

"Expecto Patronum!"

As the dazzling silver doe burst from his wand, the thread snapped, and the warmth of the memory faded, like the last glow of a dying ember.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Brobdingnagian Pseudonym for beta-ing.


End file.
